


A Trick of Perception

by WritingMyDeliverance



Series: A Matter of Destiny [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Child Abuse, Dumbledore is too much a general sometimes, Emotionally Vulnerable Harry Potter, Gen, Grief, Mentorship, Protective Severus Snape, Severus and Harry reach an understanding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-02-05 20:59:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12802275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingMyDeliverance/pseuds/WritingMyDeliverance
Summary: Severus discovers Harry in his pensieve, and then discovers something that will change all of his perceptions about the boy he swore to protect.





	1. An Inconvenient Truth or Two

**Author's Note:**

> The dialogue in Snape’s pensieve memory, and part of the confrontation following it, is taken from Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. That scene is paraphrased here, not lifted verbatim, because y’all don’t need to read all that, and I prefer to write my own take on it anyway. This fic is neither beta'ed nor Brit-picked.
> 
> This fic contains discussions of violence, physical injuries, and abuse. Take care of yourselves as needed, y'all.

Harry leaned over the pensieve on Snape’s desk, lip caught between his teeth. He knew that he shouldn’t invade Snape’s privacy like this, but the opportunity was so tempting. He’d been having those strange dreams about the Department of Mysteries for ages, but no one would tell him anything about it. Hell, the headmaster refused to even look at him most days! Harry knew that Snape probably knew what Voldemort was after, and even though he’d asked Snape wouldn’t tell him. Harry told himself that he just wanted to know what was going on. What was Snape hiding from him?  
  
Almost without making a decision, he tipped forward then. His face broke into the cool, spinning surface within, and Harry fell into memories. What he found was quite different from his expectations. Rather than information about the war, he found himself standing in Hogwarts while his parents sat their O.W.L.s. His breath caught at seeing them so young, and he eagerly followed the Marauders out of the Great Hall and onto the grounds. He kept half an eye on Snape, in case the boy trailed off in another direction, but he seemed absorbed in reviewing the exam questions and so followed the bulk of the group towards the lake.  
  
Harry sat near James and Sirius, drinking in the sight of them. He found Wormtail’s open adoration of James a little off-putting, but was content to watch his father playing with the Snitch. But then Sirius said he was bored, and it all went to hell.  
  
Suddenly, James and Sirius were studying something behind Harry. “Excellent,” Sirius said. “Snivellus.”  
  
Harry turned with a sinking heart to look at Snape, who was standing up just then, and heading back to the castle. Harry turned back to the Marauders, noting Lupin’s disapproving frown and Pettigrew’s hungry anticipation. Sirius and James stood up, and James called out, “All right, Snivellus?”  
  
Snape dropped his bag and whipped his wand at them, but James shouted “Expelliarmus!” and disarmed him. Sirius barked in laughter and attacked.  
  
“Impedimenta!” he shouted, knocking Snape down as he dove for his wand. Harry’s throat clenched and his heart raced. Why were they doing this? He saw students all around turning to watch Snape’s humiliation.  
  
James glanced at a group of girls nearby, clearly showing off for them, as he and Sirius stalked towards the unarmed Snape, taunting him. The boy was struggling as though bound by invisible ropes, and several of the students watching began to laugh at him. Snape began swearing at the two boys standing over him, and Harry watched in alarm as James cast scourgify, choking Snape with frothing pink bubbles.  
  
Harry’s fists clenched. They were bullies, just like Dudley and his lot. Snape hadn’t even done anything, and they were torturing him! All because Sirius had been _bored_. His breath hitched, horror on his face as Snape struggled to breathe.  
  
“Leave him ALONE!” Lily shouted, striding forward. James mussed his hair, smiling winningly at her. Fury snapped in her eyes as James tried to charm her. “I said leave him alone! What’s he done to you?”  
  
James pretended to think for a moment. “Well,” he said, “it’s more the fact that he exists, if you know what I mean.” Most of the surrounding students laughed again. Clearly, Snape was not very popular. The scene reminded him of what his own childhood might have been like if Dudley and Piers had magic.  
  
Lily glared at James. “You think you’re funny, but you’re just an arrogant, bullying toerag, Potter.”  
  
Harry agreed, but James had the audacity to ask her on a date. “Go out with me, and I’ll never lay a wand on old Snivelly again.” Sirius tried to warn James, but Snape had got his wand back, and he sent a cutting curse at James, who retaliated by flinging Snape up in the air, dropping his robes down around his ears and revealing his underpants, to cheers and laughter from the crowd.  
  
James dropped Snape again, at Lily’s demand, but Sirius petrified the Slytherin boy before he could get a jinx in. Lily whipped her wand out in his defense, and Harry wished fiercely that she would hex them, but instead James lifted the curse off Snape. “You’re lucky Evans was here, Snivellus—”  
  
The mortified boy snapped out, “I don’t need help from filthy little mudbloods like her!” Stung, Lily retreated, and James and Sirius returned to tormenting Snape, while Harry watched helplessly, until the present-day Snape’s iron grip caught his arm, and he was hauled unceremoniously up and out of the pensieve. Shivering in his grasp, Harry stared up at his professor, whose clenched hand was cutting off the circulation to his arm.  
  
“Been enjoying yourself, Potter?” Snape sneered.  
  
“N-no,” Harry stammered out, struggling to free himself from the furious man’s hold. The professor was pale with rage, teeth bared as he leaned over Harry, who began to tremble.  
  
“Amusing man, your father, wasn’t he?” Snape shook Harry by his arm, dizzying him, and then threw him down on the floor. Harry’s glasses went skittering away, and he squinted frantically around for them, his panic taking over. His breath caught in his chest, and he instinctively curled into himself.  
  
Snape towered over him. “You despicable brat. I should have known! Just like your father, a waste of space.” He nudged Harry with his foot. “Well? Have you nothing to say for yourself, boy?”  
  
Harry cowered, throwing his arms over his head to protect himself. Unthinking, he cried, “I’m sorry Uncle Vernon!” Professor Snape reared back, though Harry didn’t see it, as his eyes were shut tight against tears.  
  
Teeth clenched, Severus Snape narrowed his gaze at the boy curled upon the floor of his office. “What did you say?” he gritted out.  
  
“I’m sorry, Uncle Vernon, I’m sorry! I’ll be good, I promise! I’m sorry!” Harry whimpered.  
  
The boy’s hitching breaths filled the silence, until the professor nudged him with his foot once more. “Get up. Up.”  
  
Harry scrambled to his feet, peering blearily around, and then he lurched to the desk, bending over it and holding tightly to the far edge. “I’m sorry, sir. I’ll be better.” Professor Snape just stared at him, stunned. Harry waited for a moment in silence, and then said, “I’m ready for my punishment, sir?”  
  
The professor watched Harry tremble, bent over his desk, obviously prepared for some kind of caning. He found himself unsure what to do. The boy was clearly not entirely present, if his references to this...Uncle Vernon were any indication. And this, presenting himself for punishment, was clearly some kind of conditioned fear response.  
  
In the continued silence, Harry had begun crying, almost silently.  
  
Harry Potter had been beaten for punishment by his uncle. Harry Potter was in the grip of a flashback. Harry Potter had been abused.  
  
Professor Snape slowly and deliberately walked around his desk until he could look at the boy’s face. Green eyes were locked on the far wall, lidded and dull. Tears ran down his cheeks and dripped off his chin onto the desk below. When he stood between Harry and the wall, the boy did not seem to register his presence, but when he raised one hand, Harry twitched violently, knuckles white from clutching the desk below him.  
  
“Accio Harry Potter’s glasses,” Professor Snape quietly intoned, opening his hand to catch them as they zoomed towards him. He inspected them, fixing one cracked lens with a murmured reparo, and then, gently, slipped them onto the boy’s face.  
  
“Look at me, Potter,” he said. Harry blinked myopically for a moment, then craned his neck to look up at his professor.  
  
“…sir?” he queried.  
  
“I will not beat you, Potter.” The boy stared at him, looking vaguely puzzled. Professor Snape raised an eyebrow and then flicked his eyes down to Harry’s hands, still tightly clenched around the desk’s edge. Returning his gaze to the boy’s face, he watched the boy look down himself, awareness slowly dawning.  
  
“…oh.” Harry forced his hands to let go, standing slowly and stepping back from the desk. His face, which had been pale and drawn, flushed a deep red. He kept his gaze trained on his shoes as the professor studied him. Harry’s hands fluttered in front of him, as though wishing for something to do, and then the boy wrapped his arms around himself in a kind of self-soothing gesture. He bit his lip, and then spoke up, haltingly.  
  
“How- how will you punish me, then, sir?”  
  
Professor Snape’s eyebrows rose. “Eager for punishment, Potter?”  
  
“N-no, sir. But I deserve it. Don’t I?” He dared to look up at the man’s face for a moment, but his eyes quickly returned to studying his shoes.  
  
“That may be, though it is not my most pressing concern, at the moment. How often does your uncle beat you, Potter?”  
  
The red drained back out of Harry’s face, leaving him ashen once more, and his eyes widened. “Sir?”  
  
“How often does your uncle beat you?” Professor Snape said slowly, taking care to enunciate each word.  
  
“I don’t, uh, I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir,” Harry said.  
  
The professor’s hand slammed onto his desk, causing Harry to jump and cringe away from him. “Do not lie to me, boy, I know the signs!”  
  
“Then why didn’t you notice them before?!” Harry snapped. He instantly slapped both hands over his mouth and stared at Professor Snape with round, scared eyes.  
  
The man’s mouth tightened, and he looked away. If Harry didn’t know better, he’d say the man looked almost abashed. The professor’s lips twisted bitterly. “You do look so like your father.”  
  
Harry flinched. His father, the bully. Taunting and tormenting another student because his best friend was _bored_. Harry felt more tears prick his eyes, and he wrapped his arms around himself once more, staring at the floor. If looking at Harry reminded him of James, it was no wonder Snape hated him.  
  
A handkerchief appeared before Harry’s face, and he startled, hands flying up defensively before he could stop them. He quickly lowered his hands, looking at Professor Snape, who watched him with a blank face. “To clean yourself up. We’re going to the hospital wing, Potter.”  
  
Harry plucked the handkerchief from the air, wiping absently at his face. The tears from before had mostly dried, leaving stiff, salty tracks all over. He scrubbed at them anyway. “The hospital wing, sir?” he enquired.  
  
“Yes,” Professor Snape replied, not elucidating further. He walked around his desk and past the boy, who watched him with a puzzled expression. He waved the door open, and then turned back. “Come.” Harry scuttled past him and out the door, watching as the professor spelled the door shut and locked. When he set off for the main floor, Harry followed, worrying the handkerchief between his hands as they went.  
  
When they arrived, the professor approached Madam Pomfrey and spoke to her in an undertone. Harry glanced absently around, curious why they had come. He’d been in the hospital wing quite a bit over the years, and while it wasn’t his favorite place to be, he found himself oddly comfortable there. It was mostly empty, and Harry glanced out the windows overlooking the grounds, watching the sunset.  
  
“This way, Mr Potter,” Madam Pomfrey said, and he wheeled around to look at her.  
  
“Sorry, what?” he said.  
  
“Come this way,” she said, and he followed her to the far end of the ward, throwing a quizzical glance back at Snape, who was following behind him. Once there, Madam Pomfrey ushered him and the professor through a door and into a small private room. She indicated for him to sit upon the bed there, and waved her wand over him once he had. She cast several spells, and a scroll of parchment floated beside her, scribbling furiously. Snape gazed intently at the scroll, eyes narrowed, and Harry began to get a sinking feeling.  
  
“What’s that parchment, sir?” he asked.  
  
“Results of the comprehensive medical scan which I asked Madam Pomfrey to complete,” the professor murmured absently.  
  
“The comprehensive- wha- why?” He gaped at the two of them—Snape, who was still reading the parchment, and Madam Pomfrey, who was summoning vials and lining them up on the table beside the bed.  
  
“Because you would have lied to me,” Snape responded, “and I know that Professor McGonagall does not require annual medical examinations of her students, so it seemed likely you had never had such an exam before now.”  
  
Harry gulped. What would show up in the scan? Would it show bruises? Broken bones? How did it know, since all of his injuries would be healed by now? He bit his lip. What would Snape do with the information?  
  
The quill and parchment stopped, and Snape tapped the scroll to duplicate it twice. Madam Pomfrey vanished her copy and turned to Harry. “Now, Mr Potter, I’m afraid you’re in for a bit of a night. I can’t do anything about your sight, but I can get rid of that ringing in your left ear. You’ll have to take a nutrient potion to bring your vitamins into acceptable ranges, and I’m afraid you’ll have to have the skele-gro again. And this one is for nerve damage, though I’m uncertain of its efficacy at this late stage…” She trailed off as Snape leaned over and muttered something in her ear. When she nodded, he turned for the door.  
  
“Sir?” Harry called after him. “Will you- please don’t tell anyone, sir.”  
  
Snape paused with his hand on the doorknob. “I will not tell anyone other than the headmaster and your Head of House, who I am duty-bound to inform.”  
  
Harry nodded, grimacing. “Yes, sir,” he said. Snape turned back and studied him for a long moment, then he bowed his head to Harry and left.  
  
Bemused, Harry turned back to Madam Pomfrey, accepting a series of potions from her, and drinking each without complaint. Once she left, he lay down and stared at the ceiling, trying not to think about what Snape had discovered. What would happen now?

Turning onto his side, he used a mental trick he hadn't needed in a long time: he retreated into his cupboard. No one ever came into his cupboard, and it was probably the only room that had ever belonged to just him. He was safe in the cupboard, and even if it was small and dark, it was still his. Pulling the blanket over him, he imagined the walls around him, protecting him, and fell into a restless sleep.


	2. It Is Complicated, I Fear

Severus strode down the hall, toward Headmaster Dumbledore’s office. His hand clenched around one of the scrolls duplicated from Madam Pomfrey’s scan, and his face was set in a deep scowl.  
  
“Fizzing whizbees,” he snapped, and the entrance to the headmaster’s office appeared. He barely stopped to knock at the top of the revolving staircase, and fairly stormed in when the headmaster bade him enter.  
  
“Ah, Severus, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Headmaster Dumbledore smiled at him, gesturing to a seat, and looking somewhat surprised when Severus actually took it.  
  
“Headmaster, I have made an unpleasant discovery about one of the 5th year students this evening.” Severus floated the scroll towards the older wizard, who took it in hand and unrolled it. As he read, his face grew grave.  
  
Upon reaching the end, Albus cleared his throat. “This is worrying indeed. I wonder that the student’s head of house did not notice anything—not one of your Slytherins, I take it?” Severus sneered at the suggestion. “No, I didn’t think so. The other Heads might benefit from your habit of examining all students at the start of the year. Which house does the student belong to?”  
  
“Gryffindor,” Severus responded.  
  
“Indeed? And how did you make the discovery?”  
  
Sighing, Severus pinched the bridge of his nose. “It is Harry Potter, Albus. There was an… incident during this evening’s occlumency lesson.” When he lowered his hand to look back across the desk, he found the man looking utterly gobsmacked. “You didn’t know, then?”  
  
“I- of course not!”  
  
“Oh?” Severus raised an eyebrow. “That’s a relief, though you ought to be sure Mr Potter knows, as I’m fairly sure he thinks you aware of his mistreatment.”  
  
Albus sank back in his seat, looking his age, for once. “How could he think that I…”  
  
“That is a conversation best had between the two of you, I believe. I merely wished to acquaint you with the facts of his treatment at home, and enquire what arrangements you plan for the end of this year.” Severus narrowed his eyes as the headmaster grimaced. “You will not send him back there, will you?”  
  
“Severus, it is complicated, I fear. He must live with Petunia some part of the year. The blood wards—”  
  
“Are useless if his muggle uncle beats him to death,” Severus hissed, glowering. “What matters protection against the Dark Lord when his beastly relatives have given him brain damage?” He examined the headmaster for a long, tense moment. “This is why he thinks you already know, I suspect.”  
  
Albus flinched. “Severus, I…”  
  
“Has he ever asked you that he not be returned there?” The silence was damning. “And you refused.” The headmaster would not meet his gaze. “Did you tell him why?”  
  
“He must spend his summers there to extend the protection that Lily gave him,” Albus stated.  
  
Severus clenched his jaw against the rage he wanted to spew, and gritted out in a measured voice, “What does this protection do, precisely? As the Dark Lord was resurrected using the boy’s blood, he can touch him now. What more does Potter gain from his time there?”  
  
The silence drew out, and finally Severus stood. “I leave it to you to inform Minerva of this discovery, then. I will return to the hospital wing and enquire after his recovery. Though I was tempted to end his occlumency lessons, I see now that I must continue them, and more besides. I will teach him what else I can to protect himself. And if that is not enough… Albus, know this: if he does not survive the summer, it will be on your head. Yours alone.”  
  
The older wizard seemed to shrink under the weight of his words, and Severus spun on his heel, robes snapping around him as he stalked away. Upon reaching the hospital wing, he slipped through the ward and into the private room in the back, the one Poppy always used for these delicate examinations. He found the boy curled up on the bed there, asleep, and took the seat beside the bed to observe him.  
  
Without his glasses, the boy’s resemblance to Lily was made more obvious—helped, no doubt, by the absence of some of Severus’s own misconceptions about him. Sleeping, he was also obviously undersized for his age—he looked like a 3rd year, rather than the 5th year he was. Severus pursed his lips. The boy’s ‘family’ had ill-treated him, and chronic malnourishment had permanently stunted his growth. Harry would likely never be as tall as either of his parents, even were he to eat full meals three times daily for the rest of his life.  
  
A quiet rage burned deep inside of Severus. He had vowed to protect the child, and in his hatred of James Potter he had never enquired into the boy’s home life, assuming that Albus’s promises of a happy childhood were correct. Had he but asked… He would not give Petunia Evans the care of a _cat_ he liked, never mind a child, particularly not a magical child, and certainly not _Lily’s_ child. Perhaps he could not have taken Harry from that home, but he could certainly have checked on the boy and made sure his relatives understood it to be in their own best interests to treat him decently. By his own cowardice and bitterness, he was forsworn. He had failed Lily _again_ , and the boy had suffered for it.  
  
Harry shifted in his sleep, then, a frown marring his features as he murmured something unintelligible. He soon began shifting under the blankets, and shivering, obviously caught up in unpleasant dreams. The discomfort of healing bones and old injuries likely contributed to the restlessness, and he’d been emotionally disturbed before coming to the hospital wing, of course. Hesitantly, Severus reached out and laid a cool hand on the boy’s forehead, which was slightly warm to the touch. The boy stilled under his palm, and Severus gingerly ran his hand over the boy’s hair, smoothing it away from his face. Harry sighed and relaxed.  
  
Here, then, was Severus’s chance to rectify his mistakes. He would teach the boy to defend himself, both physically and magically. He would resume the occlumency lessons, but change tacks. Harry must be taught to defend his mind, but the method by which Avery had taught Severus was not the only way, though it was theoretically the fastest. He could teach the boy some spells to use in case of dire emergencies, and ensure that Harry had a way to contact him, if necessary. There was little time until the end of the term, and they had 5 (or 22) years of enmity to overcome, but he was determined to look past his own prejudices. For the sake of the war, but also for Harry’s own sake, and for the memory of Lily, he would try to make up for his failures.  
  
“Lily,” he whispered, “I am sorry for my actions. But it is not too late to keep my promise to you: I will protect him, dear ghost.” The faint sound of cloth rustling over stone sounded behind him, and for just a moment, Severus felt suffused by warmth, as though a cheering charm had been cast upon him. He glanced around, startled, but there was no one near, at least none visible.  
  
Harry stirred against his hand. “Mum?” he murmured. When Severus looked back down, eyes wide, the boy was still once more, a smile on his lips.  
  
Had he received Lily’s blessing? Perhaps, the man thought to himself, it would work, then. Nothing about Harry’s life had ever been ordinary, but with Lily’s protection and Severus’s guardianship, they might have a chance.


	3. Accustomed to the Life of a Spy

“You should have trusted me,” Severus reproached the boy mildly.  
  
“I know that!” Harry snapped, wrapping his arms around himself in that same self-soothing gesture Severus had seen him use when scared. “I know…”  
  
Severus sighed, folding himself into the chair across from Harry. He studied the boy huddled on his sitting room sofa. In the space of a day, it seemed Harry had aged into a man, the grief of losing his godfather creasing Harry’s exhausted face. His current posture, however, spoke to his youth—he was still a child in some ways, a child who had never been able to rely on the adults in his life to protect him.  
  
This was not Harry’s first visit to the man’s quarters since the fateful occlumency lesson: in the months since their mutual discoveries, Harry had thrown himself into the task of learning to protect his mind, advancing far beyond Severus’s expectations of what they might achieve in so short a time. Once the professor allowed himself to look past the boy’s resemblance to his late father, he found himself growing fond of Harry. True, the boy remained reticent on the subject of his relatives and their treatment of him, but in other matters he began to treat his professor as something of a mentor, and confided in him when matters of the war troubled his mind.  
  
Despite their progress and greater rapport, however, Harry had yet to fully master the art of occluding as he went about his daily activities, and fell prey to the machinations of the Dark Lord in an unguarded moment. Following the fabricated vision he experienced during his O.W.L. exams, he had rushed to the Ministry of Magic to defend his godfather. Though Severus had endeavored to prevent his foolhardiness, Black ignored the headmaster’s commands and went to the Ministry as well, losing his life in the battle which followed. Harry had come straight down to Severus’s quarters after his conference with the headmaster, looking wan.  
  
Turning away, Severus waved his wand, summoning tea pot and mugs from his kitchen. With practiced motions, he prepared cups for himself and the boy. When he had one tailored to Harry’s preferences, Severus leaned forward to wrap the boy’s hands around the warm ceramic, before taking up his own cup and settling back into his seat, examining the boy once more.  
  
Finally, Severus cleared his throat and broke the leaden silence that had settled over them. “I know you are not accustomed to the life of a spy, and I should have accounted for your Gryffindorish tendencies. I… apologize for not finding a more direct way to communicate with you.”  
  
Harry shrugged miserably, eyes downcast. “It wouldn’t have done any good, probably. Things moved pretty fast after you left Umbridge’s office. Hermione took charge.”  
  
Severus inclined his head. “Miss Granger is rather too smart for her own good, sometimes,” he replied.  
  
Harry shrugged again. “Saved me from the Cruciatus, though.” Severus pursed his lips at that. If that toad Umbridge were in front of him, he would be sorely tempted to give her a taste of her own medicine. Using blood quills and the Cruciatus, on _students_! For the sake of the Wizarding World, she had better hope Harry suffered no lasting harm from her treatment. If her tortures had permanently damaged the boy’s magical core, she would rue the day she laid eyes on him.  
  
Pushing away his rage at his former coworker, Severus spoke. “You should know that I did try to prevent Black from rushing off after you. I have never been able to sway him in anything, but I did try.”  
  
“The headmaster told me, after we got back.” Harry glanced up at him, then, peeking through the fringes of his hair. “He- um, he also told me the prophecy that Vold- uh, You-Know-Who was after. When he killed my parents and attacked me that night, he marked me as his equal, but I have some kind of power against him, I guess.” He unconsciously flattened his hair over his scar as he spoke, eyes darting away from his professor. “I have to kill him, you see, or he’ll kill me. It seems I’m the only one who can kill him. Though I don’t see how…” he trailed off.  
  
Severus inhaled sharply, eyes wide. He’d never known the full prophecy, never understood its full implications for Harry’s life. This, then, was the reason the headmaster insisted the boy be returned to those abusive muggles. Any protection, however scant, might seem worthwhile in the face of such a bitter destiny.  
  
Harry bit his lip, looking back at his professor. “That’s why you’ve been giving me extra training, isn’t it? Because you knew I have to defeat Vold- the Dark Lord.”  
  
“No.” Severus shook his head, feeling rather off-kilter. “I confess that I had not known the entirety of the thing. No, I merely desired that you be able to defend yourself against your detestable uncle. I had hoped the headmaster would relent, but he insists on returning you to that despicable home. I have secured permission, however, to remove you after your birthday, and conduct you to a secure location for the remainder of the summer.” He stared down into his mug contemplatively. “The Weasleys, perhaps, or the Order’s headquarters…” he offered.  
  
“I’m not sure I could live at headquarters,” Harry said, “not now that...”  
  
Severus considered this for a moment. “In light of this evening’s events, that is understandable. I shall see what the headmaster has planned.”  
  
“I almost wish I could stay here at Hogwarts. It’s the closest thing to a real home I think I’ve ever had,” Harry said wistfully.  
  
Severus raised an eyebrow, considering this. “It would be the safest location you could be, perhaps, though very few of the staff remain in the castle over the summer holidays. I doubt the headmaster would agree to it.”  
  
Harry shook his head. “I’ve asked before, and he always said no.” Severus acknowledged this with a nod. Harry glanced quickly at him, and then away. “Where, uh, where do you live during the holidays, sir?"  
  
“Unfortunately,” Severus said with a grimace, “I share quarters with another during the break, away from Hogwarts. My living arrangements are not safe for you, I fear.” He watched the boy shrink in on himself a bit. “I am sorry, Harry…”  
  
“Never mind, Professor. It’s no big deal,” Harry said. He noticed his hands were shaking and quickly downed the rest of his tea. He set the mug down perhaps a little too forcefully, but he didn’t want to risk dropping it.  
  
It had been foolish to hope, but Professor Snape had been the one adult consistently dedicated to his safety, even before the man had liked him. Now that he did seem to like Harry, the steady support was rather soothing. It was a comfort to know that the professor would always try to protect him. Dumbledore obviously trusted him, and Harry imagined he would make a good guardian: protective, firm, and solicitous all at once. He felt disloyal for thinking it, but Professor Snape would probably be a much better guardian than Sirius, who never quite recovered from Azkaban, and sometimes acted more like a teenager than Harry did himself. Or, well, he had done.  
  
Harry swiped a hand over his eyes, before mustering a grim sort of smile. “Anyway, I imagine you and Dumbledore will let me know when you decide.”  
  
Severus set aside his own cup, and sat forward. “On the subject, I meant to speak with you before the end of term. I know you can summon a corporeal patronus, and I wanted to make sure you knew of its uses beside repelling Dementors. The patronus can be used to convey messages quickly and securely at a distance, and cannot be tampered with, unlike owl mail. If you are in danger, I want you to send your patronus to me, no matter what time, and I will come to check on you.”  
  
“But what about the underage magic restrictions?”  
  
The professor shook his head sharply. “I do not counsel you to violate the restriction lightly, but if it comes to protecting yourself, _from anything whatsoever_ , I want you to contact me as quickly as possible. You should be safe from magical harm under the blood wards, but no ward is truly infallible, and… I know you may suffer other kinds of damage this summer. If you are in danger, do not hesitate to contact me. The headmaster can sort out any repercussions.”  
  
“I- thank you, sir.” Harry was touched. This was the most open declaration of care that he’d ever received from the man, and it stirred something warm in his chest.  
  
“I mean it, Harry. Contact me if you are in danger. I have bowed to the headmaster’s wishes, but I want your word that you will not subject yourself to unnecessary harm.” He narrowed his eyes at the boy.  
  
“I promise, Professor. Really.” He smiled at the fierce look on the man’s face.  
  
After studying him for a moment, Severus seemed to accept this.“Very well. Now, it is getting quite late, and I'm sure you need to rest.”  
  
Harry ducked his head, peering up at the man through his fringe again. “Could I… could I stay here tonight? On your sofa?”  
  
He looked desperate, and so hopeful that Severus found himself unwilling to refuse. He found himself nodding before he’d really considered it. Relief swept the boy’s face. “Stand up, then,” the professor said, and when Harry had done so he transfigured the sofa into a bed, conjuring pillows and blankets. He looked the boy over, and then summoned a vial from his cupboard, which he passed over to Harry. “Dreamless Sleep,” he said in response to the boy’s questioning look, and watched relief once again overwhelm his features.  
  
“Thank you.” Harry pulled out the stopper and drank the potion down. He returned the empty vial to Severus and set his glasses on the low table beside the bed, which Severus had cleared of the tea things. Tugging off his shoes, Harry slipped under the covers. “Goodnight, sir,” he said. The boy stared hazily at the fire for a minute or two, but was soon dragged under by the soporific and the weight of his own exhaustion.  
  
Severus observed him for a moment after that. He reached out and brushed a hand over the sleeping boy’s hair, in an unconscious echo of the night that everything between them changed. “I wish I could take this burden from him,” he murmured. “I wish I could hide him from this destiny. How do I protect your son, Lily?” Harry remained still under his hand, and soon Severus snuffed the lamps and withdrew to his bedroom, quickly falling to sleep himself.


End file.
